Assassin's Heart (Assassin's Heart, #1)(16)

As we did with our myriad safe houses, the Saldana Family hid stables throughout the city, moving our horses between them as needed. I headed to one as the shadows and dark night kept me hidden from the common. And the Da Vias.

I reached the stable and slipped inside.

Surrounded by the sweet smell of hay and the sounds of sleeping horses, I made my way into the secret stalls where three horses were kept well groomed, exercised, and fed.

My gray gelding, Dorian, nickered softly as I tacked him up. In the next stall Rafeo’s stallion, Butters, stomped his hoof, anxious for a night ride himself. Rafeo never believed in giving animals serious names. The final horse was Matteo’s gelding Safire, who ignored us all in an attempt to sleep.

I led Dorian out of his stall. Butters whinnied loudly.

“Butters!” I whispered. “Quiet yourself!”

He kicked at the stall door, the loud banging waking the other horses. If he kept it up, he’d wake the whole neighborhood. Better to bring him along, even as just a packhorse.

I tied Dorian to his stall door and tacked Butters up as well. He barely calmed, even when he realized he was coming. Rafeo thought . . . had thought . . . spirited horses were funny. I just thought they were a pain.

I threw the extra bags and weapons onto Butters but kept my spare money on Dorian.

Something slipped from a saddlebag and drifted to the ground. The white poppy Val had left me.

I stared at it between my boots. My throat tightened. It would be so easy to crush it beneath my heel, to grind it into the ground until it was dust.

But maybe Val hadn’t done anything. Maybe Rafeo had been wrong.

I picked it up, then replaced it in Butters’s saddlebag. I could deal with it later, once I had some answers and some help.

We left the barn, Butters tied behind Dorian. I smacked Butters when he tried to bully his way to the front, and he finally got the message.

The horses’ hooves clopped loudly on the flagstones as we took darkened backstreets. Butters grazed from any gardens we passed.

We crossed the city line into Genoni. I exhaled. The Addamo Family was smaller than the Da Vias, so chances were slight that I’d meet one of them, even though Genoni was half the size of Ravenna.

The palace sat on a hill in the center of the city, lit with giant lanterns, glowing brightly even against the lights of the city. It looked warm and welcoming, like a single coal burning in a brazier, but I’d be turned away if I approached the front gate at this hour.

They were not clippers, the Sapienzas, not part of the nine Families. The king was a disciple of Safraella solely to keep the angry ghosts outside the crumbled city walls.

My father had explained that before the Sapienzas had seized the throne in a coup, the cities had been overrun by angry ghosts. The only things that could stop the ghosts were moving water, sturdy walls, and extreme faith in Safraella. People were afraid to leave their homes once the sun set.

The common people worshipped dozens of gods, though there were six predominant Loveran gods, including Safraella. Countless gods promised afterlives, some more desirable than others, but not many offered such a fair trade as Safraella: a new life in return for a death.

Finally, the Sapienzas managed to gain the support of the most powerful of the nine Families, and together they took the throne for the Sapienzas. Costanzo’s agreement with the Families was that he would follow Safraella, building altars for Her throughout the country and donning his own bone mask—the royal family’s color was gold, of course. And the common followed suit, abandoning their gods and turning to Safraella, the god their new, just king worshipped.

So pleased was Safraella by the king and the country’s devotion to Her that She drove the ghosts out onto the dead plains, granting Lovero Her patronage, and Ravenna had become a city that thrived on nightlife and entertainment for those who had spent so long locked behind doors.

I stashed the horses in an abandoned garden, tied to a pergola, and gave each a bag of grain to keep them occupied. They were trained to wait patiently for their riders.

The palace was massive, as any good palace should be. Its walls soared into the sky, flecks in the stone sparkling against the lamplight like stars. The palace was the crown jewel of Lovero, set against the rubies and emeralds of the cities and cradled by the sea.

I waited for the patrolling guards to turn their backs before I scaled the wall and dropped into the courtyard. I was allowed to be here; I just couldn’t let anyone see me. Guards’ tongues wagged as much as courtesans’.

I scurried across the courtyard to a special door reserved for clippers. I’d never had to use it. But my father had made sure we’d all known about the door and the correct protocol. One never knew where a threat to the king could appear, he’d said, and we had to be prepared.

I entered, walking up a set of stairs to a small room decorated sparsely with only a desk and two chairs. I lit the small lamp on the desk and found an alcove in the wall. Beside it were nine candles, each adorned with a strip of ribbon. Nine candles for nine Families. Three empty candleholders reminded us of the lost Families. I supposed soon it would be four.

I chose the candle tied with a black ribbon and lit it before I set it on a tray in the alcove. With a push, the alcove twisted on a hidden axis and the candle disappeared as the wall rotated. A special messenger would see the candle and tell the king someone from the Saldana Family awaited him.

I took the chair in front of the desk and sat, expecting a long wait.